


Across the Pacific Ocean

by sPoNgEbOb_fOnT



Series: In the Garden of Bleeding Hearts [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Awkward Kageyama Tobio, CA San Juan, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Character Study, Hanahaki Disease, Idiots in Love, Kageyama Tobio is Bad at Feelings, Kageyama Tobio-centric, M/M, Oblivious Kageyama Tobio, POV Kageyama Tobio, Pining, Pining Kageyama Tobio, Pre-Relationship, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru, Relationship Study, Sad Kageyama Tobio, Second Year Hinata Shouyou, Second Year Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio, Second Year Kageyama Tobio, Second Year Tsukishima Kei, Second Year Yachi Hitoka, Second Year Yamaguchi Tadashi, Slow Burn, Third Year Hinata Shouyou, Third Year Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio, Third Year Kageyama Tobio, Third Year Tsukishima Kei, Third Year Yachi Hitoka, Third Year Yamaguchi Tadashi, Unrequited Love, is it really unrequited though?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26327344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sPoNgEbOb_fOnT/pseuds/sPoNgEbOb_fOnT
Summary: Erythrina crista-galli, commonly known as the cockspur coral tree, is a brilliant crimson flowering tree native to South America. Yet, for the first time, it is found growing an ocean and countless kilometres away from its home in the lungs of one Kageyama Tobio.(A guide to balancing Kageyama Tobio's high school volleyball career and the precious flowers blossoming in his chest left by the middle school senpai now an ocean away.)
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio, Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio & Tsukishima Kei & Yachi Hitoka & Yamaguchi Tadashi, Hinata Shouyou/Yachi Hitoka, Kageyama Tobio & Karasuno Volleyball Club, Kageyama Tobio & Oikawa Tooru, Kageyama Tobio & Tsukishima Kei, Kageyama Tobio & Yachi Hitoka, Kageyama Tobio & Yamaguchi Tadashi, Kageyama Tobio/Oikawa Tooru, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Series: In the Garden of Bleeding Hearts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931920
Comments: 74
Kudos: 307





	1. Atsumu sucks at predicting the future

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! The sequel "Half-Forgotten Among the Flowers" has been published!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the notes at the end, they're IMPORTANT! Enjoy :D

It’s the night before their third-round match with Inarizaki when Kageyama feels his chest constrict as if some supernatural entity is using him as their personal stress-ball. Every inhale and exhale is followed with a twinge of pain, not severe enough to incapacitate him but enough to give rise to annoyance when he thinks of tomorrow’s game.

Kageyama feels as if he has just finished five back-to-back races against Hinata on Karasuno’s typical jogging route. Except instead of the usual wild pounding of his heart that has him hunching over with his hands on his knees as Hinata laughs in the background, only his lungs are burning. 

“Are the blankets not to your liking, Your Highness?” 

Kageyama whips around to glare at the blond second year who sidesteps him to reach his futon. Tsukishima doesn’t make eye contact as he continues settling into his bed, an air of nonchalance as he takes his time to fluff up his pillow with exaggerated patting motions. He doesn’t offer the other boy any additional context as to why he asked such an odd question until the latter grunts. 

“You’ve been glowering at it for the last minute,” Tsukishima explains as he removes his glasses, folding them neatly before placing them to the upper left of his pillow, as opposed to the right side he shares with Hinata. The blond glances up at Kageyama, who smirks inwardly upon noticing that Tsukishima’s eyes are slightly narrowed because he’s a blind bastard. “Like the blanket’s personally wronged you with its humble and plain existence.” 

“Shut up,” Kageyama grumbles, anxious to prove the other boy wrong as he climbs into his futon unceremoniously. The burn in his thorax hasn’t stopped, and he tries to think of a possible reason as he distractedly searches for the cover he carelessly threw back. 

The second-round match today with Kyozen Tech was gruelling and toilsome as all matches were, though Karasuno seemed well-recovered enough by lunch. The day prior, they had only watched from the seats, never stepping on the court as a result of the seeding lottery. Kageyama mentally crosses off volleyball as a possible source of discomfort; he’s confident his stamina would _definitely_ not lose to the likes of Hinata. If that orange-haired annoyance is still up and jumping, then Kageyama should be too. Yet here he is, lying prone as he glances up at the ceiling while said middle blocker is causing a ruckus along with Tanaka, Nishinoya, and Yaotome. 

Kageyama gives up trying to decipher the reason behind the discomfort in his lungs, opting to announce it in hopes of having the bigger-brained teammates of his to perform that task for him. 

“My chest hurts,” the setter declares, immediately cringing afterwards because he just _knows_ Tsukishima has something to say about the blunt delivery of this statement. Fortunately, it wasn’t loud enough to alert the entire team, and Yamaguchi manages to beat Tsukishima in responding—which, by extension, saves Kageyama from dealing with any of the latter’s sassy quips.

“Are you alright? Does it hurt a lot? Did you get injured from today’s game?” Kageyama shakes his head in reply to the rapid-fire interrogation initiated by Yamaguchi, who has crawled closer from his futon to the left of Tsukishima’s. “Did you eat too much today?”

Kageyama pauses at this. They _did_ have a giant meal followed by a convenience store snack raid a few hours ago. 

“Maybe.”

“Okay King, where does it hurt?” Tsukishima interrupts with a drawl, causing the black-haired setter to frown. 

“I told you. My chest.” The blond shoots him a look of utter disgust, not even bothering to hide his disappointment. Even Yamaguchi joins him with a slight wince. “Fine. Here.”

“Well King, that’s where your lungs are,” Tsukishima states with a roll of his eyes as Kageyama nods. “At least you know it wasn’t from eating.” How the other boy came to this conclusion Kageyama cannot explain, but he nods with only a slight furrow of his eyebrows. 

“Um...do you want me to get Ennoshita-san?” Upon hearing Yamaguchi’s offer, Kageyama glances at the said captain, currently busying himself with scolding a fidgeting Tanaka and Nishinoya, who have taken a sudden interest in the wooden floor. At least Yaotome looks slightly more guilty. 

“No need,” he decides, not wanting to bother his tired senpai with any more than what he’s already dealing with. “It doesn’t even hurt that much. I just don’t like it.”

“What doesn’t Kageyama like?” chirps Hinata as he bounds over to the trio currently huddled over his bed in between Tsukishima and Kageyama. Fresh from washing up, he plops himself down cross-legged beside the latter, before tilting his head up in thought. “Knowing him, probably a lot.” 

“His chest hurts. We haven’t figured out why,” Yamaguchi explains hurriedly before the mentioned boy can attack in retaliation to Hinata’s jab. “Maybe it’s, like, nerves because of tomorrow’s match?”

All four of them know it’s a weak excuse; Kageyama hasn’t felt fear since the last Spring High qualifiers. In fact, being pitted against the nation’s Interhigh runner-up of the time only charged his body with giddy excitement that translated into steely resolve and concentration. According to Hinata, the three sets marked the birth of Calmgeyama—whatever that meant. 

“Oh wow,” Hinata gasps mockingly, “who knew you were scared of Inarizaki?” This time, Kageyama really does punch the orange-haired middle blocker, whose peals of laughter immediately turn into pained wheezes. “I thought you were only afraid of the Grand King!”

Kageyama stiffens at the mention of his Kitagawa Daiichi senpai, feeling a sharper stab in his torso compared to the dull throb before. He can count on one hand the times he has encountered the elder ever since Oikawa turned his back on him after losing at the prefectural preliminaries for Spring High: the first being when Hinata had the bright idea of crashing Aoba Johsai’s graduation ceremony after Kageyama had expressed the slightest, tiniest interest at seeing some certain third years, and the second being when the two met at the grocery store and Oikawa proceeded to scam the other out of buying the last Meiji milk carton.

Though both instances were off the court, Oikawa had been no less terrifying and awful than his usual self. Graduation really hadn’t changed him much. 

“Shut up. I’m not scared of Miya-san.”

Tsukishima must’ve picked up on the particular wording of the black-haired boy because he hums faintly before prodding him for more information. 

“It’s interesting how you didn’t mention the Grand King, don’t you think?” Tsukishima’s smile is one of those exaggerated ones he does with closed eyes and lifted cheeks that don’t suit his face. 

“No way!” Hinata interjects, shoving his face uncomfortably close to Kageyama, who has to back away slightly as the other boy gauges his reaction with a skeptical, scrunched-up face. “I thought I was the only one who needed to go to the washroom whenever we play!”

It’s not like that, Kageyama wants to say. It’s his lungs that are burning like breathing is no longer an unconscious decision—not whatever bladder problem Hinata should go to the doctor for. The aching discomfort seems to have only increased the more the four of them talk about Oikawa and Kageyama wants to tell them to stop. Instead, he opts to shove Hinata’s over-eager face away. 

“Okay, everyone! Lights out!” Ennoshita interrupts just as Kageyama is opening his mouth to let Hinata know how stupid he truly thinks he is. The four of them scramble back to their futon with the exception of the orange-haired boy who’s already right beside his sleeping place. Just as Kageyama is preparing to slide into the covers, he catches Yamaguchi’s eye. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” the freckled boy questions hesitantly over Tsukishima’s horizontal form. Kageyama nods, before wiggling deeper under his blankets. 

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

——————

The dull throb of pain that feels eerily close to the beginnings of suffocation continues and is only overshadowed by the metaphorical throb of pain of losing the deciding set. Kageyama is lying down, sweaty hair and skin plastered against the court his teammates have stepped on countless times since the whistle first blew. He’s heaving and gasping as he attempts to catch his breath, the discomfort from yesterday blending with the fatigue that serves as evidence Karasuno put up a good fight. The only reason Kageyama is sure the burning sensation in his lungs is not just from the match is because it hasn’t stopped irritating him since this morning. 

“C'mon,” Tanaka calls from above him as he offers his hand, “up you get, Kageyama.” The setter allows himself to be pulled up and pushed towards the rest of the team lined up at the net with an encouraging thump against his back. 

Kageyama remembers this scene—the one where Inarizaki stands in front of them with their hands out ready to shake and dressed in the inky night Karasuno is usually seen wearing—except this time there is no Daichi grasping the other captain’s hand or Asahi exchanging handshakes with the other ace. In fact, those Inarizaki alumni are seated in the bleachers opposite to the side where Daichi, Sugawara, and Asahi currently stand, clapping respectfully. 

Atsumu, bearing the weight of the captain’s jersey this time, calls out once more to the second-year duo responsible for Karasuno’s freak quick. 

“Told you I’d beat ya at Interhigh,” Atsumu pants out, before seeming to recover enough to draw out a slow, feral grin despite naming the wrong tournament. Oddly enough, Kageyama feels a sudden prick in his chest upon noticing how the look in the third year’s eyes reminds him of another setter wearing the same jersey number and leaning against the school gates. “And Shoyo-kun”—Hinata stiffens, suddenly straightening up—“I’m still gonna toss to ya one day!”

Kageyama frowns in confusion—he’s joined by Hinata once again—because the other boy only repeated what he had said last year. Nonetheless, at least this time they are both able to give a nod before Inarizaki’s captain turns around. Judging by his anguishing face-palm, the blonde seems to realize this is Spring High (and not the Interhigh Karasuno never attended) only after he has rejoined his team and is too far to smoothly correct his mistake without screaming. 

Perhaps the loss doesn’t fully hit Kageyama until he is lined up with the rest of Karasuno and Ennoshita is holding the Miyagi sign in front of their audience. With his head bowed down, he is suddenly more aware of the burn in his lungs that have turned into sharp stabs. 

After filing out of the arena, Ukai and Takeda will likely take the team to a cozy restaurant where they have the room to themselves to cry and eat without judgment. Then they will likely head back to the hotel and watch the replay of today’s game. For the next few days, they will likely lurk amongst the bleachers and observe the remaining teams. Once they arrive back in Miyagi, the third years will likely retire, leaving the gym emptier yet hungrier for the next tournament. 

Karasuno is no stranger to loss—Kageyama knows—having fallen at the hands of Aoba Johsai, Kamomedai, Dateko, and now Inarizaki, respectively. Every time, without fail, they’ve recovered and doubled back, undergoing a complete transformation to ravenously claw their way to greater heights. Although loss upsets them as it would any team, Karasuno makes sure the despair never lingers beyond its usefulness. 

Nonetheless, the agony in his thorax continues despite the setter knowing he hasn’t reached the end of his road yet. Karasuno is no stranger to loss—Kageyama repeats—though he can’t seem to evade the paranoia that he’s lost more than a match today. 

——————

“What’s wrong with you, Kageyama?”

On any given day Kageyama would’ve reached _down_ and smacked that orange-haired runt for asking, but apparently ‘any given day’ is not today. Here he is, bent over and gasping for breath, after only completing three-quarters of the usual route Karasuno takes. If only his lungs didn’t feel like they were about to burst then he could’ve punched Hinata in private, away from the innocent eyes of the new first years who are probably still a good distance behind with the rest of the team. 

Instead, he settles for a growl as he forces himself to straighten and keep running, if only for the sake of beating Hinata. 

“Wait...is it here again?” Hinata questions as his hands make circular motions to his torso. When Kageyama doesn’t reply with anything but a pant, the other boy frowns. “I thought you got that checked out already.”

The thing is, Kageyama _did_ get that checked out, back in April. During the several weeks leading up to spring break, the minor irritation had remained, gradually worsening to stings and squeezes that left him more breathless than usual. It wasn’t agonizing enough to terminate his high school volleyball career, but it still disadvantaged him—and therefore, his team—by forcing him to make a prolonged visit to the bench every set.

The doctor seemed perplexed; she couldn’t figure out why Kageyama—a young, robust athlete—was being hindered despite his body showing no signs of disease. A myriad of examinations proved it unlikely for the cause to be injury or infection. She dismissed him with no diagnosis at the time, promising to update him once she received his blood test results. 

A few days afterwards, Kageyama’s mother received the call reassuring her that her son’s blood count was in good health, though she was encouraged to bring him for another examination should symptoms continue or exacerbate. 

“Yeah, I’d say take her up on that offer and go back,” Hinata decides with a wince after Kageyama has finished relaying the results of his appointment. “I mean, it’s, like, gotten so bad that you’re still huffing and puffing like an old man.”

“Am not,” the affronted boy mutters back, though both of them doubt the validity of the declaration when he doubles over in a fit of coughs. Kageyama can’t help but grip his knees tightly in frustration—how is he supposed to play in the Interhigh qualifiers next month when he’s already winded from a warm-up run? How could he take this team further when he’s this _weak_? 

“Woah!” comes a shrill exclamation from behind the two, who whip around to see the rest of Karasuno with Hanabusa (an excitable first-year setter Kageyama will feel eternally feel gratitude and pride for, as it was Hanabusa setting to everyone in his absence) leading and pointing. “I can’t believe we’ve caught up to Hinata-san and Kageyama-san!” 

Hinata waves enthusiastically to the team before punching Kageyama in the arm in an attempt to encourage the boy further. 

“C'mon! You were already losing but now you’re just going to stay a loser if you don’t finish running!” And with that, Hinata’s off and speeding away with his head tossed back as he laughs his gremlin laugh. 

Kageyama curses under his breath before taking a deep inhale and pushing himself to chase after the dot of bright, tangerine-coloured hair. Ignoring the burning in his lungs and throat, he forces himself to slow his heavy pants into regular breaths. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

When he isn’t able to ease into the warm-up jog as he usually does, Kageyama thinks he should probably listen to Hinata on the off chance the idiot might be right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> We’re off to a slow start, but it’ll speed up! I hoped you enjoy reading! This was originally intended to be a Hanahaki AU one-shot for OiKage Week Day 1, though I soon realized I didn’t have the skills required to condense this while still enchanting readers to fall in love with the ship like I’ve seen other authors artfully do. Instead, I plan to write this into a series with the ending being from Oikawa’s perspective, along with one story from a surprise character’s perspective (guess who?) to tie up everything!
> 
> I’m still unsure how to navigate a romantic plot, so please, please comment or give kudos if you would like more chapters. Validate me, kind readers :D If you also have any suggestion to write these characters more in role, please feel free to tell me!
> 
> The series will be a slow-burn (because they have a lot of canon material I would like to tie in) and the weather forecast predicts it will be a happy ending. What do you guys think?
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please comment and give kudos for my validation lol :D 
> 
> Notes for the story:  
> \- If the timing is a bit confusing, this begins in Kageyama’s second year on the day before they lose to Inarizaki and the chapter ends in Kageyama’s third year  
> \- It’s been a while since I read some of the Haikyuu chapters, so please forgive me if I include any out of character decisions  
> \- The story will also feature several small time skips (like the ones in this chapter) to help speed things along  
> \- The tags have some spoilers :D


	2. Hanahaki? More like Hanamaki, am I right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn’t the spiciest, however, it is very significant as it will help you understand treatment and other spicy interactions in later chapters! Enjoy :D

As it turns out, Kageyama passes his second round of medical examinations with flying colours. The feeling of surpassing expectations on a test (a test of all things!) is foreign (granted a check-up isn’t the same as a written exam), though he can now say he understands why someone would dedicate their leisure to studying given how Dr. Chibana’s voice lifts in wonder as she explains her findings.

Kageyama’s x-ray scan of his thorax was absent of signs of a tumour or excess fluid or deformations, and his blood test—his second one this year, following his first check-up in April—was void of abnormalities. The boy breathes a sigh of relief even though the purpose of this third visit to the clinic has yet to be fully resolved. 

“It’s safe to say,” declares Dr. Chibana as Kageyama’s mother flips through the pages of results she’s been handed, “Tobio is not suffering from any physical ailments. His lungs and heart in perfect condition, as expected from a young athlete.”

The mentioned boy wants to interrupt with how Karasuno failed to qualify for even their _prefectural_ finals because their starting setter was stuck on the benches, heaving and clutching his chest, for the better part of the game. Instead, he watched Shiratorizawa and Aoba Johsai battle it out for a spot at nationals from his seat in the bleachers. His family had been still waiting for the results of his appointment a few days prior when Interhigh qualifiers occurred, leaving him no choice but to persevere despite the growing torment in his thoracic region. 

“However,” continues Dr. Chibana in a voice that suddenly turns solemn just as Kageyama is opening his mouth to interject, “I suspect Tobio is affected by a disease concerning the heart.” 

Kageyama appreciates how the physician is using simple terms, though it doesn’t do any favours to quell the panic that immediately clouds his mind when he remembers the Spring High qualifiers in a few months. 

“Excuse me?” The boy stares in bewilderment at his mother, surprised by the shrill alarm in her voice. She was always the epitome of calm when tending to his fever or cold—for the times she was home, at least. When his parents were engrossed in their work in the high-stress environment of their office, Miwa and their grandfather would tend to Kageyama and his headache (or whatever other discomforts that likely had originated from his carelessness when practicing volleyball, before he learned to cherish his body). Then both Miwa and their grandfather left—the former to study cosmetology and the latter to never return. By that time, Kageyama had already come to the brilliant conclusion the best remedy was sleep. “I thought he was perfectly healthy?”

“Tobio’s body _is_ very healthy, physically.” Kageyama would argue he's also healthy mentally and emotionally, though his physician seems to think differently. “What he may be suffering from is a matter of the heart and mind, in the metaphorical sense. His symptoms match those of early-stage Hanahaki. Have you heard of Hanahaki?”

Yes, Kageyama thinks, he has heard of Aoba Johsai’s pink-haired outside hitter. He even had the pleasure of playing against the third year thrice. Perhaps Seijoh’s alumnus is being plagued with the same chest pain as he is…

He nods his head in reply to the physician, though the action must not have been visible enough as she assumes Kageyama’s mother’s answer in the negative to be the communal response. This proves to be an outstanding move on his part because the explanation Dr. Chibana launches into has _nothing_ to do with any Aoba Johsai alumnus. 

“Hanahaki is a potentially lethal disease born of excessive, unrequited love”—Kageyama feels his eyebrows furrow to the point his forehead slightly hurts—“varying in symptoms and severity from patient to patient. The vast majority of cases involve romantic love, though the rare platonic one still surfaces once in a while. It develops under two conditions: the admirer’s desire is abnormally intense and their feelings are not returned. The latter also includes instances where the sentiment is mutual but the admirer doesn’t believe this to be true. 

“Hanahaki has two stages: Stage 1 and Stage 2. Stage 1 Hanahaki is non-fatal and generally benign. In this situation, feelings of love are short-lived, bordering more closely to infatuation then genuine affection. Symptoms include chronic chest pain—particularly a burning or pricking sensation in the lungs—and shortness of breath. Usually, patients at this stage naturally recover when their infatuation fades or they have their feelings returned. Stage 1 cases are actually relatively common, though most people who experience it don’t realize this since it can be cured without medicine. 

“If one’s love continues to be unreciprocated and they allow their feelings of infatuation to grow to the point of obsession, then that’s when we say it’s approaching Stage 2, though it rarely does. Stage 2 is lethal and long-lasting, with its beginning marked by the patient regurgitating flowers—“

“Um, what?” The question flies out of Kageyama’s mouth before it can be stopped by the politeness filter his grandfather and sister have both worked diligently to build in him. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Dr. Chibana dismisses with a sympathetic smile. “Love that is strong and all-consuming enough will cause flowers to bloom in the admirer’s lungs. The type of flowers that grow is usually representative of the relationship or connected to one of the two parties. The enamoured begins coughing up petals or whole flowers in Stage 2, in addition to the symptoms of Stage 1. As the disease progresses, they will start to spit out blood along with the blossoms. If untreated, the flowers will eventually become large enough to restrict breathing, leading to death by suffocation.”

There is an air of finality that settles over the silence in the room. Dr. Chibana has her head lifted high with a face of neutrality but even Kageyama can recognize the emotion she regards him with is sadness.

It’s only when Kageyama sees his mother’s grip tighten on the document until her knuckles turn white that he is hit with the full realization of what disease he may be suffering from. At best, he will be unable to perform to his utmost for an unknown amount of time before returning with double the vigour and ambition. At worst, he will never set foot on the court again. He knows although the thought of him living to only play volleyball has enough evidence to back it up, ultimately it’s still an exaggeration. He lives to eat delicious food, to spend time with precious friends, to attempt to (and subsequently fail to) befriend the ferocious neighbourhood strays that have yet to do anything but claw him. 

This time, however, it isn’t an exaggeration to say he will die if he can’t play volleyball. He will literally cease to exist or eat or spend time or attempt to befriend if he isn’t deemed healthy enough to be on court. The flowers that will supposedly grow in his lungs will choke the life out of him at the age of seventeen. 

“What’s the treatment?” his mother asks, snapping him out of his trance.

“Ideally the best cure would be to come to terms with your feelings or have them returned,” comes the formal response, as if seducing someone to return your feelings were an easy feat. Sometimes, even something as tangible as a volleyball is hard to return. “However, if this becomes impossible in Stage 2, there are also two more options to choose between—medication and surgery.”

“So, like, I won’t die, right?” 

“No,” Dr. Chibana assures him, her firm voice contrasting the professional detachment she spoke with moments before. “Death is a rare outcome, most patients choose to treat their Hanahaki.”

 _Most_ people choose to treat their Hanahaki—why would some of them opt out of remedying their disease even in the face of death? It seems mind-boggling to Kageyama—but then again, maybe he isn’t the best person to act as a therapist. After all, it took him nearly a year to figure out he wanted to become friends with his fellow third-years, as opposed to only teammates. 

“Then Sensei, please give me the medicine,” the dark-haired boy requests bluntly but efficiently and his mother nods in support of being able to cure her son as soon as possible. 

He would rather not go through surgery because it would force him to waste time slowly recuperating in the hospital. Rotting away wearing a blue gown and lying on a flat bed is not on his bucket list of feats to accomplish before graduation, especially with Spring High qualifiers this October. Those matches will be his last chance to conquer Nationals with Karasuno—the team that allowed him the chance to redeem himself after his most traumatizing defeat, the team in which he has grown as both a player and a person, the team he has spent every day playing with and encouraging and watching and learning from. He will _not_ let this final opportunity to win with all the people he wants to win with slip through his fingers. 

“I’m afraid I cannot do that, Tobio.” Disappointment and panic from the thought of Spring High passing with him sitting on the bench hits him harder than the nose-bleed-inducing dump from Johzenji’s setter. “My suspicion of you having Hanahaki is reasonable but it cannot be confirmed until it passes with time or—heaven forbid—the disease enters Stage 2 and there is tangible evidence in the flowers to enable my diagnosis. There is no medication for Stage 1, which you seem to be in currently.

“Other medications to ease chest pain won’t be much help because Hanahaki is unique, though I will still prescribe them for you if you feel it’s necessary. Otherwise, our best course of action is for you to have your loved one return your affection or to wait for your infatuation to fade. The latter is actually very common and I’ve had many patients who’ve naturally cured their Hanahaki in Stage 1.”

“So then will his chest be hurting during this time?” Kageyama’s mother’s question sounds different to his ears because his mind is already bursting with images of the trinity of blue, yellow, and white stripes and the burn they leave on his palm. 

_So then will I be able to play volleyball during this time?_

“Yes“—the setter is occupied with screaming the opposite in his head—“though this would be for the best. The Hanahaki medication is powerful and has its own side effects in order to efficiently control the flowers that have bloomed, so using them when they are not yet needed would actually be harmful to one’s body.”

“So then what do I do? I have a tournament in a few months!” Kageyama knows he’s being rude to the poor doctor who likely hadn’t prepared to be dealing with a frustrated teenager before she stepped into the clinic this morning. He abashedly mumbles out an apology even though he doesn’t regret being straightforward to the professional. He’s just desperate for an answer, because he has prepared for everything else—namely twisting an ankle before a game or being held back to re-learn exam material—but _this_ to hinder his performance. 

“If possible, I suggest you avoid high-performance events such as—volleyball, was it?” He nods. “Exercising doesn’t effect the development of Hanahaki, though you’ll find it increasingly laborious and harder to catch your breath due to the nature of sports combining with the symptoms.”

“Alright, Sensei,” his mother interjects before he can argue anymore, “I’ll make sure Tobio takes a break from volleyball”—no, he doesn’t want to take a break—“for the next few months. Meanwhile, will we need to just wait for some time?”

“Correct, we’re currently waiting for the suffocating sensation to subside and the disease to remedy itself naturally. Otherwise, if worst comes to worst, we’ll be standing by until it moves into Stage 2, where Tobio’s emotions and desires are enough to create a physical seed in his lungs. The formation of a tangible seed from something as intangible as feelings is usually quite the long process, although it varies depending on the depth of the yearning and affection. 

“Once it has formed, it germinates and blossoms expeditiously, causing patients to begin regurgitating flowers within the same day. The actual condensation of love into a seed leaves no physical indicators, therefore you won’t realize it has occurred until you begin coughing up flowers. When you can see these flowers, notify me immediately and we shall discuss our course of action from there.

“It’s best that you’re aware of the details and side effects of each treatment option beforehand, should you need to decide between the two.” The physician swivels in her office chair to reach for several brightly-coloured pamphlets that she hands over to Kageyama’s mother. “Hopefully, Tobio’s Hanahaki will fade with time and you won’t be needing these. However, it would be beneficial to consider the next steps in case the disease progresses into the second stage.”

His mother passes the pamphlets to him to hold as she listens intently to the rest of Dr. Chibana’s explanation. He doesn’t register what the two adults are discussing as he stares at the folded pieces of brightly-coloured paper between his fingers, though he does see the physician scribbling on her notepad out of the corner of his eyes. 

Never has Kageyama felt this much despair and helplessness staring at a sheet of writing. The dread is his stomach wasn’t this heavy when he failed to see his corresponding ID number on the list of Shiratorizawa’s entrance exam results, because there were still other high schools; or when he saw the circled score beside the note stating he needed to retake the supplementary exam, because Tanaka had found them a driver to the camp. 

Yet just studying this flimsy brochure—with so many copies on Dr. Chibana’s desk that the one he is clutching shouldn’t be _this_ devastating—Kageyama feels like he is watching the ball drop once more on Kitagawa Daiichi’s side in junior high, but this time it’s _him_ leaving, and he’s walking away from Karasuno. 

——————

The silence that ensues on the ride home is deafening, and it’s one of the rare ones Kageyama can confidently say isn’t a result of his lack of communication skills. The two of them in the car (him and his mother) have not said a word to each other ever since they left the hospital, despite the information they bring with them being one that should warrant conversation—in other families at least.

He knows he should’ve started brainstorming new strategies Karasuno will have to work with as soon as he set foot out of the clinic. As enthusiastic and obedient as Hanabusa is, the first year still has trouble remembering Tsukishima and Tokita are the ones who best suit a high set, as opposed to Shoji or Naegi.

Yet all the third year can think of while he gazes at the passing trees is how he desperately wishes he were in the gym with a volleyball in hand. He wants to toss it up in the high arc he had to learn by observation (because of a certain unwilling mentor) and shuffle his feet under him (right, left, right) before he launches himself up in the air with a mighty leap on his last step. He wants to swing his hand up from behind him (beginning with his elbow pointing towards the sky) and hit the ball with all his frustration and vexation so that the three colours (blue, white, and yellow) blur into one as it speeds across the net. He wants to hear the impact as the ball crashes down on the floor (the wooden one) and allow the world to fall into place for just a second (because his ball has landed within bounds) before reaching for another one to start all over again. He just wants to become a serving machine to make up for all the volleyballs he will not be setting in the next few months.

“Dr. Chibana said a lot of people go through Stage 1 at some point in their lives since it’s just a fleeting fixation,” his mother says suddenly, breaking him out of his daydream to see her watching him in the rear-view mirror. “Apparently, some even get it several times if they become infatuated with different people.”

Kageyama nods, not sure of what else he should be doing since he didn’t pay any attention to the physician’s words after he had gotten his hands on the pamphlets. The said brochures rest in his mother’s purse on the passenger seat, along with his medical exam results.

“But she said people in Stage 2 can only get there once,” she continues despite her son staying mute. “They just stay there, since that, um, yearning and obsession that can make something appear in your lungs—it’s permanent and only possible for one person.”

“Oh,” Kageyama forces himself to reply. In his volleyball-focused panic and internal breakdown, he forgot he supposedly was in love with someone. The closest brushes he’s had with romantic affection are those times when a classmate cornered him to confess before he let them down slowly and awkwardly. His lack of experience in relationships begs the million-dollar question suitable for a dating show: who is Kageyama in love with?

“Tobio, I know you have a hard time lettings things go,” she confesses, her voice shaking slightly. “I mean, with volleyball, you’re constantly training and practicing and watching those replays. Dr. Chibana said the love becomes all-consuming in Stage 2, and I…I know with your personality…Tobio”—Kageyama thinks his mother’s eyes are suddenly shining _too brightly_ in the rear-view window when she looks up at him—“just please tell me who is it that will make you spit out flowers.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Thank you for your kudos and comments! They bring me so much joy :D
> 
> You likely noticed I made several changes to the concept of Hanahaki, because had I let Kageyama continue suffering from the original version of the disease he would’ve died immediately because if there’s one thing OiKage’s known for, it’s their communication skills (read: LACK OF communication skills).
> 
> I never expected a situation where I would need to say this, but we have to change the disease to keep the main character alive!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please keep the kudos and comments coming :D
> 
> Notes for the story:  
> \- More details about the treatment options (and the package of angst they each come with) will be revealed in the next few chapters :D  
> \- PLEASE LET SEIJOH OR SHIRATORIZAWA GO TO INTERHIGH NATIONALS DO IT FOR GOSHIKI, KINDAICHI, AND KUNIMI  
> \- I hope Dr. Chibana is clear enough about this version of Hanahaki, but let me know if you have any questions!


	3. Yamaguchi appreciates flattery, thank you very much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternatively: Tsukishima being sketchy and snooping around. Enjoy :D

Karasuno reacted to Kageyama’s announcement of withdrawal as one would expect a team to after being slapped in the face with the revelation that one of their most crucial and senior players would be pulling out before a monumental competition. It was clear there was nothing they could do to prevent it once they were informed of the reason; Kageyama made no attempt to hide any details of the disease hindering his performance in his explanation. 

A few weak snickers echoed in the gym when the black-haired setter mentioned Hanahaki originating from unreciprocated love, whereas others wore grave expressions on their faces. Perhaps they had heard of it before. Regardless, everyone quieted down and gazed at him as if he were made of glass when he listed death as a symptom. 

Thankfully, the blue-eyed boy was permitted to participate in certain practices. His mother made Ukai promise he would not even so much as _step_ onto the court when the team was playing their practice matches or completing their arduous fitness training, yet he was free to set for everyone during drills.

In all honestly, having to sit and watch while the rest of Karasuno ran, dove, bumped, and jumped until their shirts were soaked with sweat wasn’t something he’d willingly choose to do, though it didn’t come without even the tiniest benefit. Being banned from overexerting himself gave him not only the opportunity to devise unused formations and strategies in his journal as he analyzed plays from an external perspective but also the chance to simply observe. 

In the past weeks since the players were forced to majorly reorient themselves and adapt to a new setter, a significant shift has also taken place, largely in the first and second-year populations. Kageyama feels proud of himself for noticing.

Yaotome and Nakano are no longer as mischievous and Shoji has started offering to hit the third year’s sets even though he can tell the younger is ready to collapse with exhaustion. He appreciates it, though. Tokita, who is as easily enamoured with a pretty face as certain Karasuno alumni, now never peeps a word about his new weekly crush. Though Kageyama is largely amused and touched (maybe he’s become soft) by this development, he dislikes how his Hanahaki has caused Hanabusa to repeatedly glance at him with guilty eyes. 

“Should I tell them I’m not going to drop dead?” Kageyama asks Yachi, who lifts her head from her math workbook and pauses. 

“Hmm,” she considers before letting out a light laugh. “You could, but this is the most focused I’ve seen them this year!” Kageyama snorts, before turning back to watch the practice game currently taking place against the Neighbourhood Association. Yachi’s become more at ease this school year. 

“Hanabusa keeps looking at me like he did this to me,” he confesses. “I don’t like it.” He pauses as he takes the time to watch Yaotome jump up from behind the attack line to pull off a fairly well-executed libero set. “Do you think Sugawara-san felt this way when I played?”

“Um…I don’t know what happened at the start, but I know you would’ve walked right up to Sugawara-san to talk to him about it. “

It’s Yamaguchi’s serve now. 

“Yeah, I did do that,” Kageyama acknowledges, remembering him apologizing to Sugawara and the silver-haired setter taking it with surprising grace and amusement. He knows he was lucky to have him as the player sharing his position; others would not have reacted well to being replaced. Perhaps that was why he was uncharacteristically cautious and talkative in his apology—it wasn’t his first time substituting for another setter and he had learned from the previous experience. “I’m going to, like, talk to Hanabusa afterwards.”

“Good luck, Kageyama-kun! You’ve got this!” Yachi does a fist pump motion that causes Kageyama to snort in amusement again. They both turn their attention back to their respective activities after the blond shoots him a wide smile, with Kageyama analyzing the game and Yachi resuming her homework. 

Kageyama knows he is lying when he tells himself he is happy with what he is learning sitting on a chair beside the scoreboard. His right foot is bouncing impatiently against the floor because there still exists the itching desire to run forward and demand Ukai return him to his rightful position on court—if only the actual burning sensation in his chest weren’t stronger. 

The agony in his lungs had ebbed away just the slightest bit since he had stopped exerting himself in practice. The past week, it hadn’t been as painful as the last time he had finished a run (just barely), though he realized he had spoken too soon when he had reported this to his mother. Just this morning, the burning onslaught took a turn for the worse and has yet to subside. Regardless, the setter knows he won’t be allowed to play any time soon, Takeda having been put on Kageyama-watch for any winces or pained grunts. 

Ah. A point for the Neighbourhood Association. He reaches out to flip the card on the scoreboard. 

_Karasuno could’ve saved that easily_. Kageyama frowns. Nagano and Yaotome were both close enough that they called for it, before subsequently dodging the call after hearing the other. Yaotome should’ve followed through to let Nagano have an easier time getting into his run-up. He makes a mental note to let them know during the next timeout. 

In the silence leading up to Uchizawa’s serve, Kageyama hears the snap of a mechanical pencil and stops fidgeting his right leg. He looks at the manager beside him, with her blonde hair falling forward to obstruct her face. Her hands are shaking. 

“Uh…Yachi?” Her head snaps up instantly. 

“Oh! I’m fine!” she reassures him, her hands fluttering about. “Just frustrated, that’s all! Uh, College prep classes aren’t as easy as I thought, this question’s been bothering me for the last five minutes.” Kageyama leans over to peer at the dark indent where her mechanical pencil snapped. The question’s been completed neatly, and the answer is boxed in with perfectly straight lines. He sighs. 

“I know I’m not the best at being encouraging, but, like, you can tell me. Or whatever people say. Just tell me”

“Oh—I—um…” she fumbles, before sighing. Her thumbnail has started making indents on the paper. “I’m worried about the Hanahaki, like, you said it hasn’t been getting better. And with the qualifiers coming up, I know you’ll be extra frustrated! A-and I don’t want you to die either—does that sound like I don’t trust you? I’m sorry! Oh my god! I know you don’t like it when people pity you, but I swear, I don’t think you’re weak and—“

Yachi cuts herself off by clasping her hands over her mouth in shock as soon as she runs out of breath, proving to be beneficial to Kageyama since he needs a moment to decipher her rap. 

“Okay, so I, uh, I don’t think I got all of that,” he starts, “but you don’t need to feel bad for feeling bad for me; I’m not playing but I’m not entirely useless.” Kageyama thinks of all his senpais that have been essential to Karasuno’s victories, even from their spots on the bench. Although this realization isn’t enough to quell his impatience to play, it’s at least temporarily provides reassurance that allows him to remain seated (not for too long, however, he still needs to be on the court). “And I don’t think I’m going to die. Most people don’t die.”

“I-I know, I’m sorry! I just can’t help but worry even if it isn’t, like, doing anything to help. Just—tell me if anything happens because you shouldn’t bottle it up like you did when it first developed—oh my god, I hope you don’t think I’m blaming you because I’m not—“

“No,” Kageyama interrupts because he can only comprehend so much and he can _fee_ l his brain cells struggling to keep up. “It’s okay.” He’s said this phrase so many times before as a reply to Hinata’s impressive receives (though he’d never reveal how good they were out loud), but he realizes this is the first time he’s said it to comfort someone relating to a subject other than volleyball. It feels different. “Yeah, okay, I promise I’ll tell.”

“Okay, uh, yeah, that’s great, okay.” The blond flashes him a weak smile as thanks, and they both awkwardly return (once more) to their respective activities. A few moments pass before Kageyama sneaks a peek at the manager again. Her hands have stopped quivering. He audibly sighs in relief. 

The players have clustered into their two respective groups. 

“I’m going to go tell them what they did wrong.” Kageyama juts his thumb at the huddle of Karasuno players on the right. Yachi nods and he mirrors the action, before jogging over to Yaotome and Nagano. 

——————

“What are you doing here?” is what Kageyama chooses to greet Tsukishima with when the former opens Yamaguchi’s front door to find the latter waiting outside. The blond quirks up an eyebrow. 

“I wasn’t aware you had acquired the rights to Yamaguchi’s house,” he dismisses disdainfully, motioning for the setter to back up so he can step in. Kageyama, never one to easily follow orders (especially from Tsukishima of all people despite their years of friendship), crosses his arms and frowns. 

“Alright, break it up, break it up,” Yamaguchi interjects in his captain voice, pulling the black-haired boy away. “Hi, Tsukki!” 

“Hey. The brat I had to tutor today cancelled,” Tsukishima explains as he takes off his shoes and slips on those ugly frog slippers no one else wants to wear whenever they visit Yamaguchi. Hinata chooses this moment to fly down the stairs in excitement before his face falls. 

“Where’s Yachi?” the orange-haired spiker (he graduated out of his previous position at Kageyama’s recommendation this year) questions as he peers around the blond middle blocker. 

“If you checked the group chat,” Tsukishima begins with a narrow of his eyes, “you’d know her student suddenly rescheduled, so she’s stuck dealing with the brat.”

“Woah, Tsukishima’s student cancelling, and Yachi’s student rescheduling! Do you think it’s the same person?” The other third years have already begun making their way to greet Yamaguchi’s parents, leaving only Kageyama to answer the curious Hinata. The setter’s disappointed (not really, he didn’t expect much anyway) but not surprised at seeing the orange-haired spiker looking at him with a face of expectation as he genuinely waits for a response. 

“That’s not how it works, idiot,” Kageyama dismisses with a roll of his eyes. He turns around to follow Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, who have started their climb upstairs to the latter’s room after the former went to address the parents (Kageyama and Hinata had already said thanked the adults for welcoming them when they first had entered). 

The four of them settle down around the low table in the centre of the bedroom. Tsukishima takes off his school bag, pulling out creaseless workbooks as he sits down beside Hinata in the spot originally left for Yachi. Kageyama thinks Hinata likely regrets arranging seats like this because now the orange-haired spiker is forced to study (or at least pretend to) under the blond’s glare. 

It’s relatively silent as the four third-years work through their packages from school, the scribbling of pencils and flipping of pages occasionally overlapping with groans and noises of disgust from the freak duo. He thinks he hears Hinata sniffle once or twice. 

Kageyama is certain they would not have been this quiet under normal circumstances, even with Yamaguchi’s parents downstairs no doubt keeping an ear out to make sure the students are actually studying instead of fooling around. He knows the other three are trying their best to normalize a situation none of them expected to be facing. 

Unlike the first and second years, the rest of the third years resumed practice as if nothing had changed. They did their best to keep morale high since they knew letting the team slip before the next qualifier tournament would not only undo everything they’ve achieved and hope to achieve but also everything Kageyama’s achieved and hopes to achieve. 

The blue-eyed boy would willingly endure the feeling of being suffocated if it meant playing again, and Hinata, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and Yachi were all certain of the fact. So in the time their starting setter was recovering, the duty of keeping the team together fell on their shoulders of the most senior players; they didn’t have the luxury to mope around. 

They attempted to help Kageyama find the source of his disease—the person he was supposedly infatuated with. He had confessed he wasn’t sure who was stealing his breath away and the four other third years immediately sprang into action. Their disastrous efforts mainly involved tracking down which female classmates didn’t hold a candle of affection for their star setter and relaying the results to Kageyama. When he revealed he didn’t feel any attraction to the girls of the school, they moved on to interrogating the boys. 

Fortunately, Kageyama managed to put a stop to the investigation before their classmates became curious as to why the sudden spike in the gossip of his love affairs. He wasn’t ashamed of having Hanahaki though that didn’t mean he wanted the entire school to be buzzing with reports of his unrequited love. 

Even now, as he watches Hinata squish his face in frustration, Kageyama cannot confirm who he may be spitting flowers for. Contrary to popular belief, he did have a crush, once. It was in his first year of junior high when he was young and naive and impressionable. To the him at the time, admiration was the same as adoration and what he felt for Oikawa was undeniably an indivisible blend of both. He yearned for his senpai to acknowledge him just as much as he yearned to spend time with him outside of volleyball. Despite his puppy love ultimately ebbing away when the other boy graduated, Kageyama thinks the warmth felt in Kitagawa Daiichi gym has been, to this day, his first and closest encounter with Cupid’s arrow. 

He undoubtedly doesn’t hold any romantic affection for his classmates, though he acknowledges there exist a multitude of people he has admired. Oikawa, Sugawara, Fukurodani’s previous setter, Nekoma’s previous setter, maybe even Inarizaki and Shiratorizawa’s previous setters—he’s starting to notice a trend now. Though one of the names differ from the rest, Kageyama can’t help but wonder…perhaps his Hanahaki is from platonic love?

“I’m bored! Oh my god, I’m so bored!” exclaims Hinata as he bangs his head against the wooden surface of the table. Tsukishima narrows his eyes in disgust. “We already finished exams two months ago, and I’m, like, not even going to university! Yamaguchi”—he nearly throws himself across the furniture to grasp the mentioned boy’s hands—“our very super, awesome, and cool captain, let’s stop studying!”

“Um, well,” the green-haired captain starts awkwardly, pulling his right hand back to scratch the nape of his neck, “if you think flattering me will make me listen, then you are absolutely correct. We could all use a break…”

“It’s been 30 minutes,” Tsukishima states disapprovingly. This automatically triggers Kageyama’s instinct to rebel. 

“I’m the one with chest pain; I get to decide. Let’s go.” Everyone gawks at him with a mixture of disbelief and amazement at seeing him nonchalantly mention his potentially fatal condition. Good, he thinks, he likes this atmosphere much more than a sombre one. 

“Well, you heard him! Hurry up!” Hinata is already out of the bedroom and speeding down the stairs, causing some stray sheets to flutter out of place. The others shrug and follow suit. 

They decide on trekking to Ukai’s convenience store, where they’ll hopefully receive free meat buns as welcome. If not…Kageyama’s not above using the Hanahaki card, even if to lighten up the mood and remind everyone he’s fine. 

Tsukishima unexpectedly starts lecturing the black-haired boy about one of the algebraic equations the latter was struggling with. They slow their pace gradually and allow the other two students to run ahead (after promising to catch up), the blond giving the excuse he may need an extended amount of time to explain since the setter hasn’t proven himself to be the brightest. 

“I hope you know you wasted your time and I understood nothing,” Kageyama declares, oddly feeling smug for some unexplainable reason. Tsukishima stares at him impassively without moving for an extended period of time. “Why are you…oh. So you didn’t actually talk about all that to, like, teach me anything?”

“No, King,” the middle blocker sighs in exasperation, “I didn’t.”

“Well then, hurry up.” The blue-eyed boy turns around to jog after the rest of their companions. “If we’re too slow then Hinata’s going to finish all the meat buns, that fat—“

“How about you stop thinking about that idiot and start thinking about yourself? It’s entertaining and all, but the two of you should really stop getting into those stupid races and contests.” 

Kageyama furrows his eyebrows and stops. Tsukishima requesting he end his rivalry with the spiker is like requesting the both of them stop playing volleyball—impossible to fulfill and pointless to ask. He’s finally found a contender capable of keeping up with him—a challenger willing to compete against him and consider him an equal. No pulling eyelids, no sticking out tongues, no shooting looks of pure _poison_. 

“That sounds dumb. Also, I’m currently winning and I want to make the gap large enough so that idiot can admit I totally crushed him.” 

They resume walking once more and Tsukishima mutters under his breath before inhaling deeply.

“How’s your Hanahaki, King?”

“I’m not dead yet, obviously—if that’s what you’re asking.” The burning sensation has reached a record-breaking amount of unbearable, to the point Kageyama can’t help but be slightly surprised that he’s able to wake up every morning with throwing up an entire bouquet. Given the increasing rate of intensity, it’d foolish to assume he was recovering. 

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“I’m still breathing.” Kageyama supposes he would’ve been more sensitive to the pain had he not been an athlete. Discipline, exertion, and struggle are concepts he has become familiar with through daily training and toiling. Had he been any less bent on playing once more perhaps he would’ve capitalized on this period of time to enjoy a well-deserved break, as opposed to constantly monitoring and analyzing plays to compensate for practice. 

“Great job, King,” comes a sarcastic drawl. “Have you figured out who you’re allegedly enamoured with?” 

Kageyama comes to a stop and stares him down long and hard. 

“You know I haven’t.” 

“Well then, here’s some news for you.” Tsukishima faces him, expressionless and with his hands shoved inside his pockets. “You remember how it started the day before our match with Inarizaki?”

“I know, I was there.”

“Apparently, that’s also when the Grand King left for Argentina.” 

_What?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Thank you for all your support; your comments and kudos really make my day!
> 
> I’d like to think I made an acceptable attempt at keeping everyone in-character by avoiding overly pitying reactions from the main cast, though the call is yours to make, dear readers :D
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Notes for the story:  
> \- This chapter is basically the meteorite speech personified  
> \- Oikawa was yeeted off to Argentina before their regular season ended in order to allow him time to settle down and practice for his dramatic debut coming up…


	4. Why Koganegawa should be banned from texting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ THE END NOTES ABOUT THE SEQUEL! Here's Oikawa being cool! Enjoy :D

_Up. Down. Up. Down._

Kageyama keeps his eyes focused on the ball he launches up into the air with the softest touch from the pads of his fingers. It spins the slightest bit before falling into his stretched hands to be tossed back upwards. 

Here he is, lying flat on the surface of his navy blue blanket with his mind running at light speed yet blank at the same time. He doesn't know how he’s supposed to react—whether to call up Seijoh students and interrogate them or to sit upright with his mother on speed dial in preparation for a shower of flowers. He decides to keep on setting his Molten volleyball as he’s pulled into the scenery of the darkening Miyagi sky above the path to Ukai’s convenience shop once more. 

_“Apparently, that’s also when the Grand King left for Argentina.”_

_The only emotion Kageyama can register is bewilderment. Oikawa? In Argentina? He’s no expert in geography though he’s fairly sure Argentina’s not even part of the same_ **_continent_ ** _as Japan. Why would Oikawa be there?_

_“Nice try but I know that’s not in Japan,” he scoffs, already well-acquainted with the feeling of being led by the nose by Tsukishima. The other boy has been far too well-behaved these past few weeks that he must have required an outlet to release his unhealthy amount of innate acidity._

_“Well, no duh, Your Highness,” the blonde snarls before tilting his head. “You really think I’d joke around with your life on the line?” Kageyama’s only response is a prolonged blink that contributes little to break the period of silence. “Okay fine, I probably would.”_

_“Let’s say I believe you,” the setter tests, “how would you even know that anyways? Last time I checked, you weren’t close with any Seijoh people—not to mention Oikawa-san.”_

_Tsukishima suddenly winces and shuts his eyes tightly as if to avoid reminiscing some atrocity. His left hand moves up to remove his glasses as he uses the middle finger and thumb of his right hand to rub his temples. Kageyama supposes he should be concerned and ask what gave rise to_ **_this_ ** _kind of reaction but he’s busy savouring the fusion of exasperation and regret on the blond’s face._

_“You owe me for this,” he growls. The setter raises an eyebrow. “I had to go ask Koganegawa for Kunimi’s number and god”—Tsukishima shivers—“you would not believe the amount of emojis I had to read, ugh.”_

_Kageyama mentally makes a note to thank Koganegawa and his emoji-texting ways before Karasuno destroys Dateko at the Spring High qualifiers. Although he wants to make the most of the middle blocker’s traumatizing experience to tease him, he’s struck by an abrupt curiosity._

_“Why’d you ask for Kunimi’s number?”_

_“He doesn’t ask questions.” He supposes the other boy’s referring to Kindaichi and his strict moral compass._

_“No, like, why Kunimi at all?”_

_Tsukishima blinks excessively at him with the usual deadpan ‘I knew you were stupid but not this stupid’ expression. Kageyama feels a spark of irritation with a slight edge of ire at how often he’s been uncooperative in this conversation._

_“An educated guess, I suppose,” the middle blocker finally drawls out, deliberately slow as if to give the other boy a final chance to prove his intelligence._

_“How’d Kunimi even remember that clearly?”_

_“Said His Majesty spammed their group chat with selfies at the airport.”_

_“Oh.” He isn’t really sure what would be appropriate to say at this point. His senpai from middle school upped and flew to the other side of the world (at least he_ **_thinks_ ** _Argentina is on the other side of the world) in January without so much as a goodbye—not that he had been expecting one, although it would have been nice to know. Kageyama had spent the last half of the year obsessively refreshing and combing through the V League website for news of the Aoba Johsai alumnus when he wasn’t even in Japan to begin with. “Do you think he’s playing in a foreign league?”_

_“No idea.” Tsukishima regards him with heavy lids and a faint air of boredom now that the topic has transferred over to Oikawa’s volleyball career._

_“As expected of him,” Kageyama decides with a nod. If he had to choose someone to aim for a foreign league straight out of high school and_ **_succeed_** _, it would be Oikawa. He possesses both the boldness to uproot himself in all respects and the charm to enchant players at first set._

_The two proceed in silence under the slowly setting sun. Kageyama keeps his eyes focused downwards until he notices Tsukishima is no longer visible in his peripheral vision. He feels an expectant gaze burning into the back of his head as he comes to a halt._

_“Don’t you want to use your small clump of brain cells to speculate why I put up with Koganegawa’s ungodly texting idiosyncrasies to get you this information?”_

_Silence. In actuality, the setter knows_ **_exactly_ ** _where this is going—Tsukishima straight up asked about his Hanahaki moments before dropping the bomb of Oikawa flinging himself to Argentina. How could he not know?_

_“You know what? I think my Hanahaki’s from, like, friendship or something.” He doesn’t comprehend what he’s saying in his panic-stricken horror. The epiphany pierces him like a fiery arrow through his chest and fills his lungs with smoke._

_After all those years—all those saccharine sneers and hateful glares—he_ **_still_ ** _hasn’t evolved from the Tobio-chan of Kitagawa Daiichi. He’s_ **_still_ ** _reaching and grasping for the back of someone who has never cast him a second glance unless it was to convey his loathing._

_“Really? That must be some incredible friendship if you’re killing yourself dreaming about it, Your Highness.”_

_“If it’s not—” Kageyama’s voice hardens into a hiss as he whirls around to meet the disillusioned gaze belonging to someone he’s rarely seen this sentimental. “If it’s not like that, then you better not tell anyone about—”_

_“I’ve never planned to, King.” Is that commiseration he sees hidden behind the glass panes resting on his nose? “I thought you’d have an easier time talking about things related to His Majesty. You’ve never been particularly subtle or dismissive of anything concerning him.”_

_For the umpteenth time since they separated from Yamaguchi and Hinata, the setter is silent. He doesn’t want to think about any of this now—about Oikawa, about Hanahaki, about blossoms, or about the distance between Japan and Argentina. The burn in his lungs flares up in protest as he shoves all volleyball and flower-related subjects to the back of his mind in favour of his present walking companion._

_It can’t be denied that Tsukishima has his best interests at heart—regardless of how much sarcasm and snark Kageyama has been subjected to in order to understand the middle blocker’s insinuation. The blond endured a headache-inducing storm of emojis to scavenge this information (though Tsukishima has been proven to set a low standard for what classifies as ‘headache-inducing’) and received only a hissy fit as gratitude._

_Kageyama swivels away from the boy that is trailing behind him, in preparation to vocalize a word he dares not utter while meeting the other’s eyes._

_“Sorry.”_

_“Kings don’t apologize,” Tsukishima dismisses easily as he overtakes the frozen setter. “Or did you forget your etiquette classes already?”_

_Out of the deep compassion that exists in abundance in his heart, Kageyama decides to allow the elder several more seconds to walk ahead before he catches up and shoves him._

_Up. Down. Up. Do—_

Suddenly Kageyama’s hands falter and the tricoloured ball descends upon him like an angel of death, complete with the light of his bedroom casting its halo. Pain blossoms from the tip of his nose and he places the ball down beside him to sit up, grumbling in annoyance. 

From the corner of his eye, he considers the laptop sitting on the desk to his left. And though its screen is the colour of the night right now, it calls out to him like a siren amidst fog and jagged rocks. Its sweet song promises to present the player he desires to see most and Kageyama unconsciously drops his left hand from his nose to approach the laptop in answer. 

He gently sits himself down in the office chair and opens the folder with numerous recordings in search of one situated in the bottom half of the list. He has done this countless times (mostly near the beginning of his second year), to the point his fingers remember how many scrolls it takes before he double clicks to open the video. He plugs in his earbuds and presses play. 

On the screen, Oikawa is preparing to serve. Kageyama presses his face closer as if to alert the Seijoh captain he is watching. He knows Karasuno will return this serve and score off this play. However, he can’t seem to suppress the ice-cold grip of fear and dread as he watches the ball be tossed up into the air before it’s forced down with a thunderous blow. 

Oikawa is mesmerizing as he orchestrates complex plays the audience would never truly be able to appreciate the brilliance of from their position in the stands. Kageyama has watched and rewatched the match countless times until the Seijoh setter’s form has become ingrained into his mind. Nonetheless, he still finds himself being rendered speechless with awe when the elder makes a glorious set for a quick the black-haired boy knows is coming. 

Kageyama recalls himself nearly bursting at the seams with pride and pure, unadulterated relief when Oikawa approached him with ‘ _Now we’re even_.’ To be recognized—even though it was only a sentence—by the person he had been dying to surpass made him intoxicated with euphoria and light as a cloud. His senpai’s validation was the exigency needed to free him from his fervent hunger to prove himself to the elder in time for the match with Shiratorizawa. 

As the setter loses himself in admiring Oikawa’s presence on the court, he realizes he was a fool to ever consider himself the elder’s equal. He cannot ignore the visible difference between Oikawa’s divine presence and his own, even when considering Karasuno’s victory. On the screen, he sees the low-resolution copy of himself feeding tosses to his spikers—an acceptable performance that required far too much time to fall into considering its mediocrity. 

Then the camera pans over to Oikawa, a godlike monarch juxtaposed against his cyan banner. Aoba Johsai players are scattered around him like a royal council yet Kageyama only has eyes for their captain. He sees the other setter masterfully maintain the delicate balance between his cohesive team and a volatile spiker despite early blunders. The daredevilry and ingenuity to use Seijoh’s surprise player as a decoy combined with the effortless set perfectly timed to reign said attacker back in—low-resolution Kageyama’s skills pale in comparison. 

_Argentina, was it?_

He pauses and exits the video, before opening a tab to type into the search bar with his fingers a blur of aggressive jabs. 

**Argentina volleyball Oikawa Toru**

_About 98 000 results (0.72 seconds)_

He absorbs the headlines with a growing fire in his belly and burn in his lungs. 

**Dashing Club Atlético Newcomer Takes Twitter by Storm**

**CA San Juan Brings Home Historic Bronze After Second Worlds Appearance**

**Foreign Setter and Newcomer Makes Spectacular Debut with Chain of Service Aces**

**Former Olympic Setter Returns to Coach Club Atlético, LVA’s Consecutive Multi-time Champions**

His finger impulsively clicks on the third title at the first mention of ‘Foreign Setter and Newcomer _._ ’ The article, originally written in Spanish on May 11, spins the tale of Club Atlético San Juan achieving a historic bronze medal finish as the first Argentinian club to appear on the podium at the FIVB Men’s Club World Championships. Kageyama impatiently scrolls past the Google-translated preamble before abruptly stopping at a candid shot of Oikawa donning sky blue. 

Oikawa is golden and glowing and it steals his breath away. His gorgeous chocolate-coloured locks are shorter and his skin is a radiant, sun-kissed honey Kageyama never imagined he’d appear so dazzling with. His figure is lithe, more muscular and lethal from training in the year he’s vanished off the face of the earth, and the sparkling beam he sends his teammates accelerates the pounding of Kageyama’s heart. 

Oikawa has always been objectively pretty, whether in Kitagawa Daiichi or Aoba Johsai, but this Oikawa—his face and neck golden and shining with sweat and his cheeks red from exertion—is divine and glowing. He’s ravishing to the extent Kageyama can almost taste petals in the back of his throat. 

The article contains a link to the third-place match that he opens without hesitation. He has never given thought to the possibility of throwing himself into the foreign market straight out of graduation, opting to first establish a name in the V League and international stage as a player from Japan. Nonetheless, he finds himself contemplating what it would be like to arrive in an unknown land for the sake of chasing a career with other monstrous players. 

Oikawa makes his first appearance in the second set to turn the tables when Club Atlético has fallen five points behind their Brazilian opponent. Kageyama finds this entrance—one without fanfare and flashy plays—to be particularly uncharacteristic of the older setter. In spite of that, the brown-haired man is no less spectacular as he quietly gives his all to allow his spikers to shine, with the occasional setter dump that ignites the crowd woven in here and there. 

Oikawa sets as if he were connected to the other players by a camaraderie decades-old despite this being his debut game. Eventually, CA San Juan’s blonde opposite hitter slams the ball down mere centimetres shy of being out of bounds, effectively marking the end of the set. Kageyama patiently waits until Oikawa steps onto the court again. 

In the latter half of the fourth set, the Argentinian club pulls their exhausted regular setter out in favour of preparing for the final set. Oikawa’s duty substituting in is to bring their score as close to Sada Cruzeiro’s as possible, since it’s apparent Club Atlético is fighting a losing battle now that their opponent is eight points ahead with all the momentum behind them. Despite this, Oikawa concentrates on pouring his heart and soul into every toss as he drives his spikers to jump higher and hit harder. 

In the final set, Oikawa doesn’t step back onto the court until the score is 14-12 and Sada Cruzeiro is at match point. Kageyama is familiar with the elder’s pre-service routine: spinning the ball and letting it fall once or twice before waiting for the referee to signal the start of the rally. 

When the shrill whistle finally rings out, Kageyama, tense with anticipation, watches Oikawa send the ball into a glorious crescent as he runs forward with a rhythm indistinguishable from the younger’s approach.

 _Oh. This one’s a perfect toss._

The blue-eyed boy barely has time to react—and neither do the opposing libero and outside hitter—before the ball bounces back up from the ground and out of bounds. He shouts in elation before clamping his hands over his mouth. Then he remembers his mother hasn’t returned home yet and gives another excited yell—quieter this time. 

**No-touch ace. 14-13.**

Kageyama barely registers Oikawa is moving to serve again and frantically presses the back button to catch the radiant smile on the latter’s face as his team surges towards him with equally bright grins. 

The whistle sounds and Oikawa strikes the ball into the left corner of the court with a precision more lethal than Kageyama remembers. 

**No-touch ace. 14-14.**

_One more._

The opposing libero manages to make contact with it, the ball ricocheting off his forearms to ultimately land amongst the spectators. 

**Service ace. 14-15. Match point for CA San Juan.**

This time, Sada Cruzeiro cleanly receives it and executes an attack with their opposite hitter. CA San Juan’s curly-haired middle blocker springs forward and proceeds to make a kill block that has the crowd of blue roaring. The entirety of CA San Juan swarms around their blocker and Oikawa, hoisting the two on their shoulders and screaming in happiness for their historic bronze victory. 

Kageyama feels his lips quirk upwards uncontrollably seeing his senpai this jovial and surrounded by others donning his shade of sky blue. He attempts to commit Oikawa’s genuine smile to memory until the desert in his throat forces out a cough from his body. Then he immediately rewinds to analyze the technical aspects behind the blaze of service aces. 

For the second time tonight, he feels like a fool. He keeps spamming the back key as his mind wanders, even though he has already memorized every bend and curve in Oikawa’s form. 

All his defences and denials come crashing down once he dwells a second too long on the figure displayed across the screen. As sharply as he rebuffed it in his head and in front of Tsukishima, Kageyama knows it isn’t that easy to forget Oikawa Toru. If the captain had been any less complex and captivating, twelve-year-old Kageyama wouldn’t have trailed after him like a kicked puppy despite being repeatedly rejected. 

And thus, therein lies the problem: Oikawa _is_ complex and captivating and Kageyama is enthralled. The latter fact shouldn’t have overwhelmed him as much as it did en route to Sakanoshita Store because as he recalls all their shared years, he comes to the epiphany the brown-haired setter has never once left his mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> First of all, thank you for all your kudos and especially comments, I loved reading them!
> 
> Second of all, I’m so, so sorry for this late update! I feel so bad for leaving everyone waiting, so if you’ve returned to read this chapter then I would like to give you a hundred virtual hugs! 
> 
> Third of all, future updates will likely be slower, with one to two weeks in between. I’ll try to finish them quickly, though school’s likely going to be keeping me busy, as well as the fact we’re approaching converging timelines, so I might need time to make sure they match up…exciting! 
> 
> Fourth of all, the most important announcement: you’ve probably noticed this work ends at five chapters—we’re approaching the end of the high school arc! The sequel will continue Kageyama’s pining on the professional stage! I’ve decided to make this into a four-part series, titled “In the Garden of Bleeding Hearts.” Part of the reason this update came late was because I couldn’t think of a name for the sequel, but I’ve decided to burn that bridge when I come to it (in the fifth chapter!). 
> 
> I hope you all will stay tuned for the other works in this series! 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Notes for the story:  
> \- I’ve based CA San Juan’s performance on Oikawa’s *cough cough* real-life team, though the score of the ending set has been tweaked to make Oikawa look cooler  
> \- From the research and statistics I’ve collected, let me just say that Oikawa chose a really, really good team to be in!  
> \- Please remember all observations are from Kageyama’s subjective view, so if you sense any bias then it’s from Kageyama :D


	5. Kageyama would be a billionaire if he made Oikawa pay rent for living in his mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sad I forgot to use the 'Oikawa? In Argentina? It's more likely than you think' meme at the beginning of the previous chapter; everything was set up perfectly. This chapter supposed to be part of the last one, though it eventually became too long and I didn't want to ruin the reading experience. Enjoy :D

Kageyama’s volleyball sprouted from the seedling his grandfather had spent years watering and cultivating with tender love and care, because the younger version of himself noticed the lively sparkle in his grandfather’s eyes when he explained the sport. As he and his sister spent their days familiarizing themselves with the bruising kiss of the leather ball, the sierra brown of the floor and the stench of raw sweat eventually became sensations he associated with fun and family time.

However, the bud never bloomed until the fateful day of Kageyama’s first junior high practice match when the chemical reaction (as Takeda would call it) occurred, when he witnessed—with his cobalt blue eyes—the force of nature that was Oikawa Toru.

_It hurts._

He gaped in awe as this chocolate-haired boy soared with majestic wings and a crown of light to deliver an explosive serve that struck terror into the hearts of the receivers. When the ball was returned, he watched in wonder as the third year led his warriors with ease and grace and above all, a selfless trust that inspired unwavering loyalty in reciprocation.

In the wooden gym of Kitagawa Daiichi Junior High, situated in the tranquil prefecture of Miyagi, Kageyama had encountered a king. The bud blossomed and the flower revealing itself was akin to him realizing the beauty of the role of a setter.

Prior to this eye-opener, his vision of a gifted setter had been one who possessed the athleticism of ensuring a suitable second contact in every rally. He had never truly given thought to what it meant to be the person connecting the first touch of a receive to the last swing of a spike in an orchestration involving the entire team, but Oikawa showed him—Oikawa, with all his radiance and magnificence, unknowingly commanded Kageyama’s attention and showed him. 

Oikawa simultaneously and unintentionally became both the beginning and end to Kageyama’s journey as a setter. The young boy persistently requested his senpai teach him to serve and when he was denied, he stealthily learned from him anyway. He built the technical foundation of his volleyball plays through observation: Oikawa’s block became his block, Oikawa’s receives became his receives, and eventually, Oikawa’s serve became his serve too. Oikawa was his beginning.

On the other hand, Kageyama pushed himself further despite having learnt the physical aspects of his senpai’s volleyball. In addition, he wanted to replicate the non-technical facet of Oikawa’s presence on court: the latter’s skillfully choreographed plays and his talent of seamlessly fitting in and drawing out every spiker’s maximum potential. Moreover, he ambitiously wanted to _surpas_ s Oikawa in being able to skillfully choreograph plays and seamlessly fitting in and drawing out every spiker’s maximum potential.

To Kageyama, his senpai was the epitome of elite setting, his summit to reach and overtake. This mindset was only further reinforced upon watching the elder receive his ‘Best Setter’ award and hearing Ushijima praise him.

No, Kageyama reconsiders, his senpai _still is_ the epitome of elite setting, judging by his performance in CA San Juan. Thus, Oikawa is his end.

_My throat…there’s something in my throat…_

One autumn day in Kitagawa Daiichi, the blue-eyed boy inexplicably entertained the thought of spending time with Oikawa outside of the court. To be able to meet him in a quaint coffee shop, nestle close to ask him about his opinions on a volleyball match, or hear his worries about an upcoming game or test and swear to keep those secrets safe.

He never lost his competitive edge, but he often wondered what it would be like to be hugged and held with the same arms that often left blotches of purple and red on his own during practice. What would it feel like to have the brown-haired setter look at him with love and adoration, like he were his entire world—as opposed to someone who would destroy it?

Gradually, Kageyama became more greedy. The desire to be like Oikawa and to overtake Oikawa were joined by the desire to be _with_ Oikawa.

The realization of this new wish didn’t come as instantaneously or expeditiously as the others. As opposed to him thinking, _I’m going to be just as good as Oikawa-san—no, even better than him_ the second he saw Iwaizumi earn a point with the setter’s toss, falling for the brown-haired boy was a slow and steady process.

Although the elder setter’s immaturity occasionally made Kageyama—twelve-year-old Kageyama—question his tastes, ultimately, Oikawa didn’t make it difficult to for his kouhai to become smitten. Yes, Oikawa’s personality was awful (Kageyama made sure to refer to Iwaizumi when learning to become an honourable citizen and beloved senpai), however, even _he_ revealed commendable qualities when volleyball was involved. His dedication, diligence, determination, and leadership shone bright when he was with his teammates (and since Kageyama was amongst those teammates, logically speaking, it would’ve been questionable to _not_ be attracted to the elder).

Plus, Oikawa was pretty—he’s _even_ prettier now.

Becoming enamoured felt natural.

In his second and third year at Kitagawa Daiichi, he allowed those emotions to soften in Oikawa’s absence. His heart rate no longer spiked and his cheeks no longer reddened on a regular basis.

In Karasuno, the butterflies returned whenever he saw Oikawa or heard the latter’s name, though the fluttering sensation in his stomach was overshadowed by a hunger to prove himself as a setter. He craved acknowledgement from the third year—less to do with gentle caresses or sweet whispers, but with a tense handshake and begrudging respect instead. When Oikawa dropped off the face of the earth in his second year, he ignored the unsatisfied longing for the former and convinced himself the latter was enough. 

_I’m so, so stupid._

Being confronted with Oikawa’s radiant and beautiful smile has caused a flood of memories to wash over him, leaving his judgement the clearest it has ever been when applied to the man in question. He concludes, in actuality, he has never been permitted the pleasure of receiving anything he coveted from the elder setter.

His serve: Kageyama could only learn it stealthily through observation by his own efforts. 

His acknowledgement: Kageyama can’t help but crave for more than a sentence forced out through gritted teeth now that he’s seen Oikawa shining on the international stage.

His love: Kageyama still finds within himself a burning, unsatisfied curiosity as to whether Oikawa’s hands are capable of tenderness so unlike the raw power they wield on court.

After every encounter—from pleas that held too much undisguised admiration and desperation belonging to the younger to heated stare downs that conveyed too much unrestrained hostility and distaste belonging to the elder—he has always been the one to walk away with less.

 _But that’s how Oikawa-san is, isn’t it? And…I guess that’s also how I am, too._

Perhaps more alarming than Kageyama discovering this rapacious, lovelorn facet of himself has yet to be satiated is the fact he does not rue the day he set his wide cobalt blue eyes on the other setter. What is more, he does not rue the day he decided to devote his absolute all to surpass Oikawa, nor the day he questioned whether Oikawa was as passionate a lover as he was a player, nor the day he realized he wanted—still does—to be the one to answer this question.

And if Kageyama’s heart could be stolen by a spiteful, sharp-tongued setter with ice in his eyes, then surely it wouldn’t stand a chance against the same setter once his frosty gaze has been melted by the Argentinian sun. 

Because to Kageyama, loving Oikawa is more effortless than breathing. 

_Wait, that’s actually pretty funny when you think about it._

He scarcely has time to smirk at the ironic ingenuity of the statement before his throat convulses violently and he yanks his earbuds out to retch into the garbage can beside his desk.

——————

“On the x-ray here, you can see the lumps of growth belonging to the plant that has formed. Evidently, the second stage of Tobio’s Hanahaki has begun.”

Dr. Chibana explains the blossoms are from the cockspur coral tree, a flowering tree native to areas of South America. The previously-unidentified flowers themselves are fiery scarlet, the bold colour initially terrifying Kageyama when he first saw the red tumbling into his garbage can through watery eyes. _I’m spitting out blood_ was what his brain offered on the first impulse. _Someone poisoned me_ was what it decided a second after. 

He had begun coughing out the scarlet blooms the previous night, following his investigation on Oikawa’s whereabouts and career. After taking some time to steady his breathing, confirm he hadn’t been poisoned, and comprehend the fact he had vomited out _actual plants_ , he curiously studied the mess before his eyes. 

In every flower, he counted out five petals—four small ones and one large one that wrapped around—along with lone, scattered ones of incongruent shapes. All of them felt leathery against his fingers—a sensation almost similar to what one would expect from a volleyball. 

This morning, he discovered that although the chest pains never left, heaving up a floral shower occurred periodically, as evidenced by his second episode in the car en route to the clinic. He was thankful none of the waxy flowers were ever stained with spit or blood, though he doubted the latter would contrast greatly with the already-crimson corolla. 

Some of the floral evidence of Kageyama’s unrequited obsession is currently sitting on top of Dr. Chibana’s desk, in the plastic bag she used to submit them for identification. Beside them is the chest x-ray containing results from the emergency medical examination taken only minutes before. Kageyama can’t seem to tear his gaze away from the irrefutable grey outline of a miniature tree on the radiograph, supposedly growing inside his lungs. 

“Second-stage Hanahaki can only develop once, so Tobio reaching this point means he will never have to suffer for a second person.” Dr. Chibana gently offers as consolation. “Were you able to take a look at the pamphlets I left you?” 

Kageyama’s mother had frantically read through the treatment options contained in the said pieces of paper as soon as they had returned home from their previous appointment, before proceeding to call both his father and Miwa. The black-haired boy himself was the last to know, only having briefly scanned through the pamphlets this morning. 

His mother’s composure doesn’t slip in the slightest when she answers. 

“Yes, but I had some questions regarding both of them.” 

The physician attempts a smile as she nods, though it comes out closer to a wince instead. 

“That’s alright. I’ll explain the treatment options in more detail, as these brochures”—she gestures behind her—“give you a much more condensed version. Before I start, however”—Dr. Chibana turns her gaze to Kageyama, her stormy grey orbs bearing into his blue ones—“I would like to remind you that the best cure would be to have your feelings returned, Tobio. The plant would fade naturally without leaving any traces. All other remedies have lasting side-effects.”

 _If I could have them returned, I would._

The doctor’s words echo sharply like accusations inside his head—as if he intentionally chooses to be lovesick. He wants to explain to her it’s _Oikawa-san_ who left him behind when he hopped aboard the flight from Japan to Argentina—it’s always been _Oikawa-san_ leaving despicable little _Tobio-chan_ behind to languish. If he could become as great as Oikawa, if he could surpass Oikawa, if he could steal Oikawa’s attention for longer than a match, he’d do it all in a heartbeat. 

Despite his skin heating up from the frustration and helplessness bubbling inside him, he politely tells Dr. Chibana his love being reciprocated isn’t an achievable solution. Both her and his mother appear as if they want to argue the opposite, yet he firmly dismisses their attempts. He supposes they wouldn’t understand even if he were to pour his heart out to them, so he instead requests Dr. Chibana move onto another topic.

The physician hesitantly obliges. 

“In addition to curing second-stage Hanahaki naturally, our other two options are surgery or medication. For patients who choose to undergo surgery, the plant inside their lungs will be forcibly and permanently removed. In doing so, they will no longer experience any symptoms, nor the ability to love another romantically.

“The operation itself is quick and relatively painless, although there is a lengthy recuperation period involved. Depending on the timing of the excision and the flora, one potential repercussion is lasting lung damage of varying severity. Other than that, the patient is sure to make a full recovery without periods of relapse. Of course, the main deterrence against surgical removal is being unable to feel romantic affection again, as I mentioned before.”

Kageyama was already informed of the inability to love as a devastating drawback to the otherwise swift and permanent solution of surgery, having skimmed through he bullet points on the back of the beige leaflet. Upon registering the information while seated in his mother’s vehicle, he immediately flung the trifold sheet of paper aside in vexation. He became preoccupied with spitting out his scarlet blossoms shortly afterwards and didn’t bother to return to his reading again. 

“That’s…a very big and permanent decision to make,” his mother comments slowly, her voice thick with dejection. 

Kageyama doesn’t think so; he made his choice the second he threw the leaflet away. He has too many unanswered questions about Oikawa to simply stop wondering about him. 

“I understand this decision is something you and your family would like to consider carefully. Normally, I would encourage using the second alternative of medication to allow more time to deliberate.” The physician slides the x-ray towards them a second time. “However, Tobio’s case is more time-sensitive than most because—as we discussed before—his blossoms are from the common cockspur coral _tree_. Flowering trees require more space in the respiratory system than smaller flowering plants. 

“The operation is essentially similar to plucking the plant out from where it anchors itself in the tissue. If the roots are large enough, removing them may result in pulmonary fibrosis, leading to long-term breathing difficulties. This damage is unrepairable, so the sooner the excision is performed—if you are choosing to continue with it—the less time we would be giving the roots to grow and harm your lungs. Tobio, I remember you talking about volleyball, so to allow you a greater chance of returning to the sport, the optimal time for surgery would be as soon as possible.”

If Kageyama were enamoured with any other person, he might have entertained the notion of never being able to adore them again for several seconds longer—as opposed to immediately physically and figuratively tossing the idea out. Volleyball, however, is a part of him he wouldn’t even dare _think_ of surgically removing from his life. 

Volleyball has always been the link tying him to others. Before elementary school, it tied him to two players in a team of three: his grandfather and Miwa. In elementary, it tied him to the wonder and fascination of learning to respond to the other bodies beside him. In junior high, it tied him to the admiration and awe of witnessing a king dominate the game with elegant sets. _Also_ in junior high, it tied him to the bitterness and desperation of young boys unprepared to be faced with so much emotion. In high school, it tied him to the relearning and recrowning of the new King of the Court and his kingdom. 

To sever this tie would be to sever his connection to the people he’s ever stood on the court with. To sever this tie would be to sever his connection to _Oikawa_. 

What was it that he told Tanaka? On the day of the Shiratorizawa match?

_No one scares me more than Oikawa-san? There’s no one scarier than Oikawa-san? Something like that._

He finds himself recalling the statement in Dr. Chibana’s office because of the absurdity of it. It may have been the only time he’s lied to his teammates about his senpai from middle school. Maybe he truly had been afraid of the elder at some point in time, though in hindsight, Kageyama realizes this wasn’t the case during the prefectural finals. 

Why would Oikawa scare him? The elder isn’t a criminal nor an authority figure; the two of them are volleyball players. Despite the younger setter yearning for more, their interactions thus far have been limited to only ones involving the sport. The most terrifying image he can conjure up—in the context of a game with Oikawa the volleyball player—is the Seijoh alumnus serving straight to his face—though he’s sure many people would be petrified to find a ball hurtling towards them at terminal velocity with the lock-on accuracy of a missile. 

It could be attributed to a fear of losing, yet Kageyama is doubtful. Defeat didn’t prey on his mind when he endured the crushing force and spin of Ushijima Wakatoshi’s southpaw spike, nor when he witnessed a near-replica of his signature pinpoint toss from Miya Atsumu. Staring down one of Japan’s top 3 aces and Japan’s best setter through the black squares of the net separating them only set his nerves ablaze with hunger and exhilaration—though this isn’t to say he can settle for being bested.

Kageyama _hates_ losing—whether it be a match, a bet, or a mundane race against Hinata. His stomach is a pit of dread and frustration whenever he watches the ball drop a final time on his court, Tsukishima’s lip twist into a sneer that screams, ‘ _I told you so_ ,’ or a carrot-coloured blur speed past him. 

Regardless of the utter detest he holds for the above situations, he doesn’t feel a single ounce of terror whenever he shakes hands with the victors through the net, shoves his fingers deep into his pockets to pay up, or scowls at Hinata to tell him to get off his high horse. 

Yet the memory of his cobalt eyes trailing after the number one emblazoned on Oikawa’s back as the captain walked further and further away from the court—away from _Kageyama_ —washes over him like arctic water. The sight of the shrinking brown-haired figure loudens the pounding in his ears and dries the saliva in his mouth. Every time he relives the moment he wants to scream for Oikawa to turn around and look at him. And every time he tries, his muscles fail him. 

At least with Hinata, Kageyama knows he won’t ever run out of chances to compete with the other boy. Yes, he despises the underlying smugness (only _he_ sees it) behind the wide beam Hinata sports after every victory—but he isn’t fearful. Even as their point gaps draws closer to double digits due to Kageyama’s incapacitated state, the spiker never fails to recite their ever-changing scores—because as far as they’re concerned, the numbers will never cease their growth. 

He and Hinata are head-to-head in a race on a circular track, an eternal competition without a final destination. Occasionally, one will break free and charge forward, and yet the ultramarathon will continue onwards. As confident as Kageyama is in believing Hinata can leave him sitting awkwardly in the dust (and vice versa, if anyone’s keeping score), the setter knows Hinata would never rush too far. 

Hinata would peer behind him and yell at Kageyama to ‘ _hurry it up, slowpoke_!’

This is why Kageyama has never been afraid to lose to Hinata—he knows he won’t lose _him_ if he does. 

And perhaps this logic can be applied as to why Oikawa is the most terrifying opponent he can name—because as soon as he loses the match, he loses _Oikawa_. 

Oikawa isn’t Hinata—he’s lightyears ahead and not willing to turn around unless Kageyama physically yanks him back. Years of longing and yearning were on the line every time a net separated them and suddenly a game held too much desperation and potential liberation to be only about volleyball.

If the rally ends on Oikawa’s side, then Kageyama has come one step closer to surpassing the most skilled setter he knows, and Oikawa will keep looking at him until they face off again at the next tournament. If the rally ends on Kageyama’s side, then he has failed, and Oikawa will leave. The elder will no longer consider him worthy to fix his penetrating gaze on. 

Volleyball is the only common language he shares with extroverted, charming Oikawa and a victory over the elder is the only bargaining chip he has to keep Oikawa’s attention on him. The same sport Kageyama’s senpai once refused to mentor him in has now become the thinnest thread spanning the vast blue waters to tie them together. 

If Kageyama loses volleyball, he loses Hinata, Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and Yachi. 

If Kageyama loses volleyball, he loses Karasuno. 

If Kageyama loses volleyball, he loses Oikawa. 

He plans on clinging to this thread like a lifeline because even though Oikawa has always looked at him with hostility and malice glinting coldly like diamonds in those earthen orbs, at least he was _looking_. 

“Can you tell me about the second option? I didn’t read that part yet.” 

Dr. Chibana flinches slightly at hearing the teenager speak up for the first time. 

“Ah yes, certainly. The second course of action would be prescription medication designed to wilt the Hanahaki flower without affecting the respiratory system. This is a long-term regimen, though it can also temporarily serve as an intermediary stage prior to resection of the growth or reciprocation from the patient’s loved one. The medicine must be taken daily as part of a lifelong treatmen—“

“Sensei, excuse me for interrupting, but I’m thinking of playing professionally after high school.” From his peripheral vision, he notices his mother’s eyes widen as she swivels her head towards him in question as if to remind him of the V League offers he’s rejected to date. He’s mentioned the Schweiden Adlers before, though she couldn’t understand why he remained adamant about joining them. “Are they allowed in games?”

“Of course! The Hanahaki pills are permitted in all sports. They do not possess any performance-enhancing properties and only serve to erase manifestations of the disease. It would actually be dangerous for athletes to refuse medication while pushing their bodies to extremes, as they are there to block chest pain and prevent regurgitation of flowers or blood. Having the pills may even become a matter of life or death, so no governing bodies have placed bans on them. 

“The medication gradually causes the enamoured to forget the person they yearn for as the flower is weakened. Nonetheless, it is still necessary to resume treatment after this point as to prevent episodes of relapse. There are rare cases of memories and symptoms being triggered or resurfacing despite the regular use of the Hanahaki pills, though this complication is uncommon and nothing to worry about. Generally, these recollections and manifestations fade away soon afterwards. 

“Despite this slight inconsistency, what is common amongst all cases are sentiments of yearning and unfulfillment differing in length and frequency. Some patients have no issue with handling this sense of dissatisfaction from time to time, although others would rather have the plant removed once and for all to avoid the restlessness. Ultimately, the choice between undergoing the operation and taking the pills boils down to personal preference and tolerance.”

Kageyama doesn’t want to whine like a spoiled child, so he grits his teeth to prevent himself from screaming in frustration. His mother rubs circles on his back with her thumb as comfort—something she hasn’t done in years. Perhaps the forgotten familiarity of her lingering touch is why her consolement feels foreign and does little to quell the physical and emotional feeling of suffocation. 

_This isn’t fair._

He doesn’t want to stop playing volleyball or never love again or have to forget Oikawa. He doesn’t want to die, either. 

The blue-eyed boy throws his head back and exhales deeply while the other two women occupying the room wait patiently and wordlessly. The pool of dread causing his stomach to churn makes him wish he could freeze time, encasing the three of them in Dr. Chibana’s office so that he never has to tell her which treatment plan he will settle for. 

He doesn’t know why the thought of forgetting Oikawa seems _wrong_ all of a sudden. The number of sleepless nights he has spent tossing and turning and wishing to rid his thoughts of the Aoba Johsai captain isn’t low. Surely, with Kageyama’s career and life on the line, he should be able to forfeit something as fickle and impalpable as memories.

Yet the liquid dread morphs into guilt when he considers it. 

Choosing to wipe his memories clean of Oikawa somehow feels like an injustice to twelve-year-old Kageyama—when high-fiving his captain during a substitution process sent a bubbly rush of giddiness that warmed him head to toe. His heart threatened to burst right then and there. It also seems like a disservice to all the stars that blinded him when he witnessed Oikawa let out a rare smile at the plaque in his hands. He swore then and there to surpass him and see the smile again.

If _thirteen-year-old_ Kageyama could push himself, despite his aching muscles and exhausted body, to jump-serve again and again in the lonely silence of the wooden gymnasium for the sake of one day being able to shake hands with his former captain across the net—if _thirteen-year-old, fourteen-year-old, fifteen-year-old_ Kageyama could endure all of that and succeed in mastering a serve by relying _solely on the memory_ of Oikawa’s form despite the elder being at another school, then it _really would_ be an injustice for him to forget. 

For Oikawa is his destination, and although he has mountains to scale before he can match the pinnacle the other stands on, Kageyama knows he himself has reached dizzying heights through following the elder’s footprints. In dashing after the distant figure of Oikawa lightyears ahead, Kageyama has covered great distances and left his starting line far, far behind him. 

One day, he will run neck and neck with his senpai. Another day, he will sprint ahead of him.

He springs forward suddenly, struck by an idea that can only be considered a stroke of genius. 

“What happens if I, like, forget to take the medication one day?”

Dr. Chibana furrows her eyebrows in suspicion, choosing to answer cautiously with a warning glint in her eyes. 

“Forgetting to take the medication—in charge of preventing you from spitting out blood, by the way—for a day will not result in any immediate lethal consequences. However, other complexities depend on the timing. For example, symptoms will reappear if you stop treatment—which you should avoid doing—near the beginning. On the other hand, symptoms likely won’t return as quickly if you repeat this action after several years. 

“In rare cases, patients may experience recurrences of Hanahaki despite diligently following the schedule. As I mentioned before, these relapses come and go as long as they continue to take these pills everyday. However, ceasing treatment for frequent, extended periods gives the plant time to rejuvenate and develop immunity. This would cause the Hanahaki to exacerbate. Wilting the flower and inhibiting the manifestations of the disease once more will require additional time. Therefore, I _highly_ advise you to be exceedingly diligent in adhering to the schedule.”

Kageyama wasn't born under a lucky star—at least he doesn't think so—yet he's had his brushes with serendipity. Witnessing Oikawa play was one of them, winding up at Karasuno was another.

However, he reckons he used up the entirety of his fortune in selecting his high school. No longer finding the familiar 'You've won a free drink' under the flaps of his milk carton shortly after enrolling at Karasuno was one piece of evidence, Oikawa ending up in Argentina was another. 

Kageyama isn't naive. He doesn't believe himself to be lucky enough to join the select few able to keep their memories of their desire, nor does he trust fate to be merciful enough to let him remember Oikawa Toru. 

_Fine then. I’ll take care of this myself._

“Alright then, Sensei. I don’t want to get the surgery, so could you please prescribe the medication for me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Thank you all for your support, we’ve come to the end of the high school arc! I had a lot of fun writing, and I hoped you all enjoyed reading as well!
> 
> The sequel I will be posting is titled “Half-forgotten Among the Flowers,” so stay tuned to see Kageyama’s story from after graduation all the way to the timeskip! I’ve run out of pre-written chapters, so updates for the sequel will come every one or two weeks. They might be slow, but I plan to finish all four parts of the series! 
> 
> For anyone who’s new, this work and the sequel are two of the four parts to the “In the Garden of Bleeding Hearts” series :D
> 
> I know this Hanahaki AU is slightly different from the others, so feel free to ask questions if you’re confused! I had to rack my brain for a way to keep Kageyama alive since both him and Oikawa don’t like initiating contact with each other…
> 
> Thank you for reading, comments and kudos are always appreciated! I’ll see you all in the sequel: “Half-forgotten Among the Flowers!”
> 
> Notes for the story:  
> \- This continues from where the last chapter left off  
> \- Advantages of the operation: permanent method of removing Hanahaki  
> \- Disadvantages of the operation: potential lung damage, lengthy recovery involved, inability to love romantically  
> \- Advantages of the medication: can be used temporarily, no risk to respiratory system  
> \- Disadvantages of the medication: varying success levels, feelings of yearning and discontentment, potential periods of reoccurrence, amnesia relating to desired person


End file.
